Warrior Pose (44 page)

Each evening after dinner in my hotel suite, I practice deep breathing, a few alternate arm-leg balances, then lie on the living room floor, reading
Deep Healing
and listening to Dr. Miller's audiotapes. When I'm completely relaxed, I contemplate my higher power.
Exactly what is it? How do I connect at a deeper level? Harmonize body, mind, and Soul like Dr. Miller advocates and Dawn teaches me in Jin Shin Jyutsu?

But tonight, after a long day, I feel the full force of back pain returning. It's the first time since checking into the detox ward that this prelude to a major episode has gripped me. I know it too well. It begins with the ice pick sensation, like I'm being stabbed in the tailbone. Then a fire rages in my back. My muscles fill with tension and begin to spasm. Sciatica runs down the backs of my arms and legs. These episodes always shut me down for at least two or three days, sometimes a week or more. I'm gripped with fear.
Is all my progress just a farce? Is this going to knock me out of the Pain Center?
I have just crawled out of the abyss, and now I wonder, A
m I going to fall back in?

Instinct and habit kick in.
I need some pills. Must gobble morphine, Vicodin, and Valium
.
Oh God, I flushed those!
I remember the Celebrex and Neurontin by my bedside and start to go for them. Then I pause. Deep inside of me I hear Dawn talking about physical, mental, and spiritual harmony. And Dr. Miller's words are bubbling into my mind as well, urging me to be strong, healthy, calm, and relaxed. As I stare at the prescription bottles, contemplating swallowing a double or triple dose, an inner voice says
Don't do it. Take responsibility for your own health. Allow relaxation to heal you at every level.

The flare-up continues to grip me all over, but I don't resist. “I have you,” I tell the pain out loud. “You don't have me.” I lie down on the living room floor and try to relax into it.
Oh, Higher Power, Dear God, whoever, whatever you are, guide me through this.
Holding my hands together in a Jin Shin Jyutsu position designed to move energy in the lower back, I breathe as deeply as I can, consciously accepting the torment, surrendering to it, even thanking it for all it has
taught me.
I am strong, healthy, calm, and relaxed.
There are moments I want to scream and writhe in pain, but I keep completely still. Breathing, relaxing, accepting, releasing, surrendering.
Wage inner peace. It's now or never
,
this is the test
.

Thirty minutes later, a slow shift. The sciatica and muscle spasms start to subside.
I have you, you don't have me.
I breathe deeper. Focus more intently. Surrender further. Another thirty minutes. I can feel pain leaving my arms and legs.
Thank you for the lesson, pain
. Thirty more minutes and it leaves my hips.
I'm strong, healthy, calm, and relaxed
. My back is still on fire. I stay with it.
My body, emotions, mind, and Soul are all at peace.
Visualizing the ice pick slowly being removed from my tailbone. And then I picture Morgan.
Get up, Daddy
. Another thirty minutes.
Breathe, accept, release
. Maybe an hour goes by.
Get up, Daddy
. Suddenly, I feel deeply relieved. Light. Airy. Still, it takes a while to realize it: All the pain is gone.

I can hardly believe it. In less than three hours, I've ended a pain episode that in the past would have immobilized me for days. The best news is that I haven't had to rely on any drugs.
Maybe I don't have to look inside of a pill jar any more to find relief. I can look inside myself instead
. I stay on the floor a while longer, just to make sure this is real, then get up carefully, find the Celebrex and Neurontin, and toss them in the trash.

CHAPTER 27

The Visits

H
I MORGAN, it's Daddy.”

“Hi, Daddy.” “Daddy loves you, honey.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

I call Morgan a few times a week to remind him how much I love and miss him. My heart aches like crazy, and hot tears stream down my cheeks every time I hear his precious little voice. He's only two-and-a-half years old, so I'm not sure he understands why I'm not home drawing sailboats on his back, playing little games, and holding him on my lap.

“I miss you. I'll be home as soon as I can. You take care of Mommy, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

I'd call every morning and night, but it would probably just confuse him and surely drive his mother crazy.

Each time Morgan hands the phone back to Pamela, I ask for a visit. Just me and Morgan. I need to spend a day with him now and then, get reconnected, and let him know how much his daddy cares about him. Pamela always answers, “Maybe next week. We'll see.” I sense that she's retaining control because she still opposes my choice of the Pain Center and wants me in the rehab unit. Part of me wants to lash out at her, recount the demons in the detox ward, the continued episodes of pain, how I've been working
so hard to heal myself. I have to remind myself to stay calm and relaxed, to wage inner peace, change the things I can, just accept the rest.

Then it dawns on me one evening after we hang up and my frustration begins to subside:
What about her years of suffering? The thrilling promise of a global life replaced with becoming the caretaker of an invalid? My energy, bravado, and boundless curiosity replaced by darkness, depression, and bitter outbursts?
If I had been in her position, would I have stayed, or would I have cut and run long ago? I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

Finally, after a lot of begging and a little badgering, Pamela agrees to a visit, but it won't be time alone with Morgan. My other family members will be there, too, and it will be only an hour or two. No one will come to my room. Instead, we'll meet down the hall in a reception area. I grit my teeth at all this but quietly acquiesce.

It's wonderful to see my family when they arrive on a Sunday afternoon. I hug my mother and sisters, apologizing again for the hurt I've caused, and softly kiss Pamela on the cheek. She's tense, and I sense that the kiss makes her uncomfortable. Then my whole being comes alive when I turn to Morgan. I lift him up and hug him closely, fighting tears as I whisper, “I love you so much,” over and over into his ear. But because I have to give my attention to everyone, Morgan and I just can't connect on the level I need.

The reunion soon starts to feel stiff and formal. I'm embarrassed about having been in detox. Visions of the intervention flash in my mind and I start to feel nervous and unsure of myself. We are all uncertain and nervous, staying on the outer edges and keeping the conversation very light. Worse, it seems like it's over before it's begun. It isn't nearly enough. I need time with my son. Real time. Just the two of us. Bonding. Reconnecting. Affirming the fact that his father is completely devoted to him and always will be.

During my calls home, I continue to negotiate with Pamela for a visit from Morgan that we can have all to ourselves. It feels outrageous that I have to beg to see my child, but I swallow the anger.
Wage inner peace.
I don't want to blow it. Being with him is worth the wound to my pride. Two more weeks go by like this, and it's making me crazy. It's all I can do to stay focused on making progress at the Pain Center. Finally, just when I'm about to crack, a breakthrough: Pamela agrees to bring him to my hotel for a half day this Saturday.

When Saturday finally arrives, I'm up early and doing my new morning routine of deep breathing, relaxation, and visualization that I've designed from practices in the
Deep Healing
book that Dr. Miller calls “Experiential Workouts.” This time, instead of
I am strong, healthy, calm, and relaxed
, my chant all through my morning practice is
Morgan, Morgan, Morgan
. I'm waiting at the door when I hear the knock. Pulling the door open, I see a boy who seems even bigger now, standing beside his mother with a huge smile on his face as he clutches a little stuffed animal under one arm. I lift Morgan up and hold him tightly to my heart. He wraps his free arm around my neck and nuzzles his cheek into mine.

“Hello, big boy!”

“Daddy!”

“I love you so much, Morgan!”

“I love you, Daddy!”

Pamela is polite and kind, but a wall is clearly there, and it feels to me like it's getting thicker. She lets me know I have three hours with Morgan and tells me the precise time she'll return to take him home. I'll need to have him ready and waiting in the lobby. These are her conditions, which she made clear when we arranged this, and that is that. I have to suppress the urge to remind her that he's my son, too, as I smile and say, “Sure, of course. Thank you.” This is hard work for me, always trying to choose humility and kindness.

It's a relief to close the door. Morgan and I hug some more. Roll around on the floor. Catch up on his life. He gives me the latest news on the status of his favorite toys, including a Thomas the Train
engine and the new stuffed bear from his grandma, named Fuzzy, that he's still clutching. Our cat, Max, is doing great, Morgan says, but he meows for me now and then. There was a butterfly in the front yard yesterday. It almost landed on his finger. Now they're friends for life. Whenever we're alone together he opens up like this. I could talk and play with him for days on end.

As he continues sharing, Morgan is staring softly at me, touching my face and hair, getting reacquainted. I find myself doing the same thing to him. We have so much to discuss, but it's in the silent moments between our words that we find the deepest connection. When it's my turn to be the reporter, I take him on a tour of all the nooks and crannies of my suite, show him the view from the balcony, and how I can almost see Coronado in the distance.

“When the sun rises, its golden light streams right through this window,” I tell him. “Your name means
great shining light by the sea
, and ‘Morgan' also means
morning
. So the sunrise makes me feel like you're shining down on me with lots of love. When you see the sun tomorrow morning, I'll be sending my love to you in that light, too, okay?”

Morgan likes this idea. He smiles, hugs me, and says, “Okay, Daddy, we'll send love through the sun.” I'm amazed at how much he's talking and it feels like I've missed ten years of his life.

Then we embark on an adventure throughout the hotel, ending up at the downstairs spa. I put on swim trunks I bought in the hotel gift shop. He wears his little pull-ups. We quickly immerse ourselves into a large Jacuzzi. With the support of the warm water, I can swing him around, ride him on my back like I'm a sea monster, and lift him into the air. It's pure joy. We play until the last minute possible then hurry back upstairs to change and meet Pamela at the appointed time.

“Daddy, will you draw on my back?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” I've been dreaming of this moment. I even packed the magic drawing stick when I went to the detox ward and have kept it by my bedside like a talisman. “What should we draw?” I ask, although I know the answer.